


The Snow Is Coming Down on Our New England Town

by dogeared



Series: Nantucket AU [55]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-12
Updated: 2008-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all happens pretty fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snow Is Coming Down on Our New England Town

It all happens pretty fast—one minute, John's yelling at Rodney over his shoulder and slamming the back door as hard as he can, and the next, he's sprawled on his back next to the Wagoneer, blinking up at gray clouds scudding across the gray sky.

He's still trying to catch his breath, to figure out, without moving, whether anything's broken, when he hears the back door again; he opens his mouth to call out, "Careful!" but it's too late—there's a familiar thump-thump-thump and an outraged grunt and then Rodney's sliding to a not-so-graceful stop elbow-first right into John's kidney. In the moment of stunned silence after, John can hear the ice-covered branches crackling overhead, and then Rodney swears thoroughly and sincerely.

John huffs out a laugh, which makes him cough and gulp in air and shiver violently. Rodney's right—it's fucking freezing out here, especially splayed out on the slick driveway, and at least John's dressed for it; Rodney's only wearing pajama pants and thick wool socks and a threadbare t-shirt. John sucks in another breath and shoves Rodney's elbow out of his spleen and levers himself up.

"Sorry," Rodney says, and John reaches to haul him up, too. "I mean, I'm sorry, about, you know, the thing—ow, _ow_, my spine." Rodney's standing up just fine, though, so John figures his spine's okay. They have to clutch each other as they shuffle back up the steps—Rodney grips the railing, and John concentrates on not stepping on Rodney's toes.

They make it across the porch without any further disasters, and the blast of warm air from inside when John opens the door feels like the best thing ever, and then Rodney's shutting out the cold and pushing close. He unzips John's coat and slides his hand against John's side and holds it over the spot where John's pretty sure there's going to be a nasty bruise. His palm is cool even through John's shirt, and he's murmuring, "Sorry, I'm sorry," and John's brushing his fingers over Rodney's wrist, and there's a bottle of Advil with their names on it, but it can wait.


End file.
